Spin My Little World Right Up
by Ruffluv
Summary: It's always fun when the fair rolls into town, but will Bella be the same when it rolls out? All's fair in love. Introducing gypoward x
1. Chapter 1

Please note that the following story is not meant to cause any offence whatsoever to those of a travelling lifestyle. It is based on my limited knowledge and far-fetched imagination for the purposes of fiction and fun.

**Spin my little world right up**

The Moor. It's a right of passage for all growing up in this town, a travelling fair that lands here every Summer—what we have of one-with rides and game stands and food vendor stalls, all stuck together piece by-piece, only to be dismantled a few weeks later and whisked elsewhere.

When I was little, the 'rents would take me and it'd be all hot roast sandwiches and watching the bigger kids—including my dad—go on the 'big person' rides.

Then, in that awkward phase of being young teenagers, we relished the idea of hanging around somewhere that wasn't outside of a corner shop or the woods, even if we weren't really financially suited to the Moor's climate. Still not up to the full-on thrills, we'd brave the rides that fell inbetween somewhere.

Then, one year, the Moor didn't come. It was 'cos of trouble makers, or low profit or something, but for a couple of years, just as I was old enough to really appreciate it, to graduate to the big thrills, there was a large expanse of green where it once had been.

The Summer I turned eighteen, it came back. I grabbed some friends: Garrett,-slightly overweight, but sweet as candy floss; Angela, who was like a log flume—a bit wet, but fun; Tanya, who was like the bumpy rides—a right laugh, but a side of a bitch, and off we went.

We took a bus into the city centre, then walked through the park, towards the sights and sounds of the fair: the outdated dance music, the big wheel curving into the sky…

We sauntered past the caravans at the start of the course, where the gypsies told your fortune for a fiver.

We did a lap of the entire set-up first, getting our bearings, taking it all in.

For our first ride, we settled on the Waltzer—ease ourselves in, get in the spirit…

But the waltzers around here were not your typical waltzers. Young—and not so young men surfed on the platform as it moved, like gypsy superheroes, spinning the cars. They never fell and they never slowed down. If you showed fear, they only spun more, as if they could smell it like the dogs left tied nearby as the showmen worked.

As we approached the wooden steps, I saw one such workmen stood upon them, beckoning us with two thick fingers. I swear he made eye contact with me. He was sun-kissed and sweaty from exertion, muscular from carrying heavy loads, with a look in his eye that suggested he might be carrying more. He had a mane of hair that looked quite mad in the best possible way, all sticking up and highlighted naturally. He was my new favourite attraction.

He led us to a car of his choosing. I wondered if it might be special somehow, the fastest or the cleanest.

_Silly. With childish thoughts like those, maybe I'd be better suited to the teacups._

I had no loose change, so the others gave me their fare and I handed a note to waltzer boy. My soft schoolgirl hands brushed his, big and calloused.

Our moment was interrupted by a bellowing voice from the small operating room in the centre of the ride.

"Oi, Bal!"

"Bal? What the fuck kind of name is Bal?" Jess jeered as we sat waiting in our circle.

"I thought I told you to let Alec collect the cash. What, don't you speak English?"

Jess laughed, but I felt bad for the guy. "What a wanker!"

Bal, as he was apparently called, looked downtrodden as he walked past us to take his services elsewhere.

He swept his T-shirt across his forehead to wipe away the sweat, some of which had wandered between the strands of that sexy hair.

"Ew,gross!" said Jess.

I actually thought it was anything but. And I told her so.

"He's a gypo, Bella. You're hot for a gypsy."

"I don't think that's politically correct, Jess. I think the term is 'traveller'?"

"Whatever."

Bal the 'gypo' joined another older guy in dismantling large pieces of metal all around the outskirts of the walkway surrounding us.

"Health and safety," the older showman mumbled in explanation as they hauled the pieces along.

Bit disconcerting when we're waiting for the ride to start.

But honestly, my focus was elsewhere. Like on the tip of tongue sticking out of my gypsy prince's mouth as he lifted and carried.

They left the pieces outside of the construction we were in, next to the back part of a vehicle.

Jal stretched out next to the license plate of the abandoned bumper.

_**Long length**__, _it read

_Not even letting my mind go there._

When each offending block was removed, the ride finally began—slow at first of course, to lure you into a false sense of security.

Then, we gained speed.

Garrett was on the far end of the seat and liked to do this thing where he leaned all of his weight on to one side in an attempt to make us go faster.

He needn't have wasted his time; Jal surfed his way over the wooden waves, making it look easy to stay upright in spite of the forces acting against him. There was almost an elegance to it.

He took hold of our car and sent us hurtling round at a speed that forced us back against the seat like it was no effort at all_. Elegance and strength._

The spinners were supposed to divide their time amongst the spinees, but Jal spent more time on us than usual. _Was there a reason behind that, I wondered? Like a particular passenger, maybe? More teacup thoughts…_

Cut short by the operator that had shouted at Bal.

"Hands in the air! Scream if you wanna go faster!" He goaded us over the speakers. He was good at shouting, it seemed.

"Do you want some more?"

"No!" Angela protested.

"Yes!" I protested at her protest.

As the ride threatened to slow, Bal was bound for our carriage once again.

"Hold on tight." It was like he said those words to me and me alone.

And off we went again.

By the time we'd come to a complete stop and climbed out to make way for the next lot, I was dizzy and unsteady on my feet.

_Had the butterflies in my stomach only from the sheer speed of the ride?_

I had to go back to the Moor at least once; I'd forgotten to buy a coconut to bring home. It's like a tradition: you break it where the eye is, so you can drink the liquid from it, then smash it open and break chunks off to eat. _Yeah, that wasn't the reason…_

I brought my younger sister and her friends, so desperate was I to see him again.

They were on some lame ride and I was left holding the coconuts.

I watched "The Cyclone" in action: the waltzer-like cars running on a roller coaster track, rotating as they went, hypnotising.

Hot breath at my ear.

"Lovely bunch of coconuts"

_Bal. _

I whipped round.

"You know my name?"

_I said it out loud._

"I…heard your boss.."

"Oh. Well, actually, that's my travelling nickname. My given name is Edward. I prefer that. But the boys call me Bal."

"Why…Bal?"

He looks bashful. It means "hair".

_Of course._

"And your name is..?"

"Bella."

"Nice. Look, I have to get back. Those things won't spin themselves. But Wednesday is my day off. I was wondering if you wanted to take a walk round with me- that is, if you're not sick of the sight of this place."

"I'm not" I insisted.

"Perfect. I'll meet you by the big balloon stand at six."

And with that, he waltzed off.

My little party trod over the lumpy planes, exit- bound.

Since I hadn't gone on any rides this time around, I had some spare spends.

I glanced over at one of the signs outside the caravans littering the first few feet of grass.

_Gypsy Rose: World famous fortune teller._

I didn't believe in that shit; the closest I'd ever come to having my fortune told was opening a cookie, and even that I took with a pinch of salt. Or sugar-whatever. But I was curious; I'd seen a lot of people queuing here at various times.

I laced the old lady's palm with silver-or five pounds to be precise-and sat on the couch inside her caravan.

She asked me whether I was left or right handed, so I told her.

She held one of my hands, studying it, and told me a bunch of stuff I already knew.

It was when she took the other hand in hers that it started to get interesting.

She began talking of my love life—or lack thereof.

"I see many twists and turns in your future when it comes to romance."

This was all getting a little too weird for my liking.

I leapt up. "Thank you!"

"But I wasn't finished-"

"I've heard enough."

That was probably the easiest five pounds she's ever earned.

Wednesday was as far into the future as I was worried about right now.

I found Bal—Edward- at the balloon stand, like we'd said. A little girl was trying to give her balloon to him, despite his protests and attempts to pass it back. I guess females of all ages weren't immune to his charms…

His off duty look consisted of jeans that resembled his on-duty ones, with a different red T-shirt, the colour of which he suited so much.

He had some scruff above his upper lip and the beginnings of a beard.

On those "come hither" fingers was an array of jet black rings which sounds a smidge womanly, but they made his hands-and him-that much sexier.

He introduced me to hidden treasures of the fair that I'd have never known were there: the music stage off to the side, the tastiest snacks available, all the gossip about the vendors I could handle. We talked about ourselves as well, of course.

I could feel butterflies in my belly, being with him, even now my feet were firmly on the ground.

When we ambled past a games stall, I gushed over the giant stuffed pandas pinned up above.

"You want one?" Edward asked.

"Yeah, but these things are totally fixed. I wasn't planning on wasting my time. Or money."

"I can win you one." His misplaced confidence was kinda hot.

"You don't have to—"

"There is one condition." He cut me off.

"What?"

"If I win you a giant panda…you have to kiss me."

Edward paid the man behind the counter and collected his three rings. One round a square block—which I'm guessing wasn't made to measure—to get a prize.

Edward went through nine rings. He probably would've gone through more if I hadn't pleaded with him to pack it in.

Then, because he must have known him, the man let him take a giant panda anyway—in exchange for a few more quid.

"I'd like my kiss now."

"It doesn't count if you cheat." I corrected him.

He took hold of my chin and held my stare. "Kiss me."

I was pulled towards him like it was hook- a- Bella.

I felt that hot breath and brought my lips to his.

Just as I was getting lost inside his mouth, a passer-by knocked into us like an errant dodgem.

Edward glared at him , then softened his look when he turned back to me.

"Maybe we could go somewhere more…private.?" He suggested.

I swept my arms out in a gesture that indicated that might not be possible in such surroundings.

"I've got a caravan."

"Oh."

"Look Bella, I know what you're thinking. Wandering man, wandering hands. But I only want to kiss you."

I took his hand. "Lead the way."

The caravan was pleasant, as far as caravans went.

There was a couch—come—bed which we perched upon.

It wasn't long until perching became lying as we took up where we left off with our kiss, with nothing to stop us.

From side- by- side, to him pushing me back, planting smooches down my neck.

He sat up and ran his bejewelled, manly hands up and down my thighs, where my dress didn't cover.

I couldn't help myself from sitting up myself to hitch up his T-shirt a tad and taste him; he took it off completely.

He cupped my breasts over my dress."Can I kiss you here?"

Quite a clever way to get around the limits of the deal we made.

But I was in no mind to argue terms and conditions.

He nudged the top of my dress out of the way and then there was that tongue he'd teased me with the tip of, only now I saw more of it, felt it, against my nipples.

He inched down the sofa bed.

"And here? Can I kiss you here?" One of his hands caressed me over the top of my chosen underwear.

And that's just what it was—a kiss, planted on my "down below" lips, his other hand keeping the material out of his way.

Just as quickly, he replaced the cotton barrier, with one last rub for luck.

Then, he removed the garment in its entirety.

"You taste like candy." And he should know…

He got back up to his knees, leaving me exposed and I took that as my queue to expose him.

_Step right up!_

I loaned a helpful hand in edging down his jeans.

He was going commando and let's just say, there was no danger of him being too short to ride.

He readied me with the same two fingers he'd beckoned me with, wetting and widening me.

He let me be in control, laying back and bringing me with him, astride him.

I angled myself above him and held my breath as I sunk down.

I shifted above him slowly, his hands gripping my cheeks, then my tits as I straightened up. I wished his expression could have been caught on camera, like a souvenir picture.

He stole back control—occupational hazard—pinning me down with one hand at the bottom of my back and one at my neck, furiously pumping into me.

"More!" The phonetics of that word weren't lost on me, even in that moment.

Sweat collected on his brow, at his hairline, with no T-shirt to wipe it away, and hands that were otherwise engaged.

I broke out in screams and his mobile home was probably shaking, but I was bothered not one bit.

_If the caravan's rocking, don't come-a-knocking._

He cradled me in his lap as he came up to meet my face. I ran my fingers through that namesake hair, every look, every breath, shared.

Soon, he was leaving the bed behind, the beckoning fingers bidding me to come over to the built- in units.

He bent me over the end, holding his hands over mine on the sturdy surface.

His mouth was at the shell of my ear:

"Hold on tight." He echoed his words from the waltzer.

He went white-knuckle wild on me, making me say his name—his birth name, as I soared into my orgasm.

With his seed on my lower back, my legs were too jelly-like to to clean myself up.

_Would I always be left unable to walk when it came to him?_

Edward and I spent as much time together and got as close as the Moor allowed.

We even talked about running away together. "You could make the love and I'd make the money." He romanticised.

But I recognised that it wasn't reasonable—for now.

When he hit the road, he'd be taking a piece of me with him, just like all those pieces of equipment that magically turned into a wonderland when they reached their destination. Maybe we could turn into something next time around.


	2. Chapter 2: Fire and Whispers (Outake)

**Action/Interaction: Fire and Whispers **

The smell of the Moor is carried on the breeze from the distance: the freshly fried donuts, the pungent aroma of fear from the rides.

Likewise, I hear the screams and music on low volume. But in our far-off field, my nostrils are filled with the smell of burning wood and my ears, the welcome sound of crackling.

From the corner of my eye, the fire burns bright: oranges, reds and yellows… But I'm focused on the sight of my lover before me, masculine, yet so pretty on the night's landscape.

"Come away with me." He whispers in my ear-an order, not a request, the heat from his breath rivalling that of the fire.

I feel the friction of his hand in mine, as he brings me towards him and spins me. The warm air whips around me.

Being spun at his hands, with no heavy machinery between us—just my body at his command- is the best feeling in the world.

Then he kisses me, his exotic taste uncomparable. No, that's the best feeling in the world.


End file.
